


Contraband

by rae_aaah



Series: Written for Others [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Power Bottom Keith (Voltron), Rimming, Sexual Tension, Top Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-02-12 19:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21481927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rae_aaah/pseuds/rae_aaah
Summary: Keith grunts, throws back the whiskey. “It’ll take more than this to get me submitting to you, cad,” but his words are already running together in his mouth and his face is growing redder by the second and he lists into Lance’s side when a patron ambles too closely to the bar.He smells like brine and like oranges. Like cannon fire. A little bit like blood.And Lance is drunk off it, alcohol notwithstanding.“You smell delicious, Red. Wonder how you’ll taste,” and he’s turning into Keith who falls into the hollow of his chest, letting out a low Watch it to the drunkard at the bar. Keith runs hot through his clothes and Lance fits a hand to his waist. He puts his nose the line of hair at Keith’s nape, licking the skin behind his ear. “You taste like the ocean,” and Keith is pushing at Lance, pushing him away, his face a ripe tomato and Lance wants to eat him up.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Written for Others [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1406800
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by the lovely sampai_ca_art uwu. Writing them like this was hella fun!

Lance walks down the dock, his boots thunking heavily against the wood. His cutlass swings with each step and he puts a hand to the hilt to keep it from bouncing against his hip. The smell of salt and hoarded gold is strong on the air and it mingles with the smell of whores and ale and blood. He walks with purpose to the pub, Hunk a solid wall behind him. Even though his first mate wouldn’t hurt a fly, he’s still big and intimidating. But Lance is known around these parts to be cutthroat, so no one challenges him regardless.

He passes to Hunk a coin purse and tells him to buy supplies in the morning. Tells him to visit the blacksmith’s daughter to see if she can outfit them with a few rifles this time. Hunk flushes across his cheeks at the mention of Shay and Lance grips his shoulder to bolster him, gives him leave for the night. If there’s any trouble, he’ll know where to find Hunk.

He pushes his way into the pub, the doors squealing on a rusted hinge. There are a few eyes that lift and cut to him, a few haggard faces that size him up. No one looks like they’re going to lunge and that’s fine by Lance. He’s tired from being weeks out at sea and he just wants a drink and a soft bed and the stillness of solid ground. Maybe a body to warm his sheets- milk skin, hair the color of midnight, and the prettiest violet he’s ever seen...

Lance slides up to the bar, his blooding singing when he sees who’s already there. He’d recognize that mullet across the bay if need be.

“Red,” he greets with a nod. 

Keith slides his eye in his direction, slinging back a honey colored liquid sloshing around in a shot glass. He taps the glass back down to the bar top, motions at the barkeep for another. “Look what the cat dragged in. I heard that the Garrison pulled you for contraband.”

Lance sniffs and makes eye contact with the tired looking woman. Her hair is greasy but she has soft eyes. It’s a strange combination in this part of the world and Lance returns her small smile. He points at Keith’s glass, then to himself and she pours him a shot of whiskey. It goes down like glowing amber. “Managed to skive them off by convincing them that there was a bigger fish nearby.”

Keith scoffs, the grip on his glass tightening. “Yeah, thanks for that, you prick. They took almost everything,” and he tosses his drink back, the long line of this throat on full display. Lance sees with his sharp eyes several people glance up at Keith. How their eyes follow the swallow of his throat. He quickly shoots them all down with a menacing glare. They return to their cards, their food- some sharpening knives.

“You’re so very welcome,” he says. Motions to the girl to pour them another set of drinks. Lance puts down three golden coins, more than what’s required as payment, as he gestures between the two of them. She nods, brings the bottle back out and leaves it on the bar. 

Lance slaps Keith’s hand away as he reaches for it. “I thought that this was restitution,” Keith glowers. Lance knows that Keith isn’t very good at holding his liquor but damned if Lance is going to stop him now. It’ll make this night more fun. 

“I’ll make that up to you later,” and he gives a wink. He pours Keith a shot, then another one for himself. “But this, this is just to make you  _ easy _ .”

Keith grunts, throws back the whiskey. “It’ll take more than this to get me submitting to you, cad,” but his words are already running together in his mouth and his face is growing redder by the second and he lists into Lance’s side when a patron ambles too closely to the bar.

He smells like brine and like oranges. Like cannon fire. A little bit like blood. 

And Lance is drunk off it, alcohol notwithstanding.

“You smell delicious, Red. Wonder how you’ll taste,” and he’s turning into Keith who falls into the hollow of his chest, letting out a low  _ Watch it _ to the drunkard at the bar. Keith runs hot through his clothes and Lance fits a hand to his waist. He puts his nose the line of hair at Keith’s nape, licking the skin behind his ear. “You taste like the ocean,” and Keith is pushing at Lance, pushing him away, his face a ripe tomato and Lance wants to eat him up. 

He throws a punch at Lance but he sees it coming and just palms his fist. The bar goes quiet and every pair of eyes turn to them, waiting to see what’ll happen. The barmaid slams her hands on the counter. “Out! You take that brawl outside or I throw you on your arses to the stones myself!”

Lance smiles graciously at her, puts another two gold coins onto the counter and hauls Keith and bottle both out into the street. Keith struggles in his hold and rips himself free, his tunic sliding off one, pale shoulder and all Lance wants to do it taste.

Keith is breathing hard, his chest rising and falling like the waves off the shore and he looks so stunned and lost and hungry-

And he’s stepping into Lance’s space, hands fisted in his collar and he’s yanking Lance to him, heat and salt and citrus and Lance bites at his lips, fights Keith’s tongue for dominance- and, and Keith lets him win, lets him invade his mouth, lets him push Keith to the side of the pub building and pin him there. They both grunt, rub at each other and Lance growls when passersby get too close to their shadows. 

“Will you? Will you let me in?” Lance pants, and Keith is whining in between their kiss, hands in Lance’s hair, riding Lance thigh between his spread legs like a slag. 

“Not on your life,” and Keith bites at him, hard, hard enough to draw blood and this is what Lance loves about him, his spark- his fire. His refusal to let anyone,  _ anyone _ , except Lance past his walls. He sucks on the welling blood and it stings. 

With one last push, Keith throws Lance off of him, wiping the back of his mouth. He spits on the ground at their feet and his eyes glitter with challenge. “You pay me what I’m owed, and not a coin short,” he says, pushing himself from the wall. He even has the gall to adjust himself in his trousers and Lance wants nothing more than to sink to his knees right here like a ten bit slag-

Lance strikes his hand out lightening fast, grips his fingers into Keith’s hair. Keith cries out, bends his spine backwards as Lance pulls. He takes a swig from the bottle in his hand, presses his mouth to Keith’s open one and forces him to swallow. Their tongues mingle and Keith breathes out a sweet sigh. 

“Come to my ship and I’ll give you everything your heart desires,” Lance breathes between them.

He slides his fingers from Keith’s hair, soft and cool as silk in the moonlight, and turns on his heel. His boots make a heavy click against the stones. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t look back. But he smiles when he hears the sounds of footsteps, following. Following. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things heatin' up in the captain's quarters

The wood of the ship creaks as it rocks to and fro on the waves and the moon that filters in from the cabin’s windows illuminates the crest of Lance’s cheeks. Keith reaches down and runs a hand through Lance’s fine hair, hums as the cool strands slip through his fingers. Lance’s lashes flutter from the movement, look up at him from his kneeling position on the floor and Keith’s cock throbs hard in Lance’s mouth when he catches the sharp glint of lust that reflects back at him.

Lance pulls away with a small sounding pop, grins, takes Keith in his hand and strokes him slowly. The laces to his breeches fall around his hips and his trousers are open low enough to expose his cock and some of his thighs. 

“Like what you see, Captain?” he asks, licking up the shaft.

And Keith’s skin breaks out in goosebumps at having that hot breath ghost across his thighs. 

“You look good on your knees,  _ Captain _ ,” he replies, foot lifting and pressing into Lance’s lap. His foot finds his clothed erection, hot and stiff. He wraps his toes around the length, puts pressure by pointing his foot. Lance grunts, curls over his knee, mouth wide open and panting against his skin. “I think I’d keep you like this,” Keith contemplates. “A pet on my ship.”

Lance huffs out a laugh, amused and cocky. “You’d have to chain me up for that, Red,” but the moan that slips out of his throat dampens the argument. 

Keith hums. “I may have just the thing,” he says, and stands. He sees Lance try to rise, but he lifts his leg, puts his foot to Lance’s shoulder and pushes him back down. “Easy.”

Lance looks up at him, eyes bright. His bare chest heaves and Keith can see how his nipples peak. He smirks down at him. 

Keith walks around the room and as he goes, he starts to shed his clothes: his coat placed over a small table, his boots toed off next to a chair that he hangs his shirt and breeches over. He shimmies out of his undergarments and throws them at Lance who grunts and drops them to his side. 

His glittering ocean eyes never leaves Keith’s skin.

Keith moves towards his standing dresser and throws the door to the side. He pulls a collar from a drawer, heavy leather with a ring affixed to the front. A long rope leash. It used to be Kosmo’s, before the dog got too big for it. 

He shows it to Lance and his skin turns a pearly bronze in the low light from his blush. 

“Keith, what are-” and Lance looks nervous. 

“Shh, pet, only speak when you’re spoken to,” Keith tells him in a low voice, fingertips against his lips. He brushes Lance’s bangs to the side, gently, gently. Coaxing a skittish animal to heel. “You’re a good boy, right? You’ll listen to your Master, yes?”

Lance’s pretty lashes flutter again. His eyes close and his breathing quickens. Keith waits patiently for him to come to a decision. 

When Lance opens his eyes, they’re bright. He swallows, nods his head. Tilts his chin backward. 

Keith threads the tongue through the buckle, metal clinking quietly. Around them the ship creaks and rocks. Rocks and creaks and by the time Keith has the leather snug around Lance’s throat, his harsh breathing is all he can hear.

“Good,” and he’s threading the rope through the ring, tugging for Lance to lean forward, to lean in, to take his cock back into his mouth. He does so, tongue sloppy and wet, licking everywhere he can reach, and Keith lets him. He gives slack to the leash as Lance tucks his face behind his sac, starts to lick there. His thighs start to tremble and he spreads them, giving Lance’s broad shoulders more room to get between. 

He lets Lance lick him at his leisure, tugging the rope to guide him. He watches avidly as his head bobs, his face half-obscured, watches Lance’s pretty eyes watch him. 

Keith jerks the rope and Lance comes free from between his thighs with a whine. His lips are red and shiny, puffy from his work, and his pupils are blown wide. Keith can see in Lance’s lap his cock standing straight up, the tip oozing salty slick and staining the front of his undergarments. He jerks the rope again, upwards with a hard yank, and Lance stumbles to his feet. 

Keith grabs him around under the chin as he sways, steadies him. “Do you want more, pet?” Keith asks him, reveling at how the heavy swallow of Lance’s throat rolls under his palm. 

“Yes,” Lance says, struggles with the word.

Keith releases the leash and pushes him from his hold. He loses his footing and the backs of his knees hit the bed. He goes down with a short cry and sprawls out across creame colored sheets. He notices when Lance traces over the fabric with his fingertips, how his face breaks out in awe.

“You think I would fuck you on commoner’s sheets?” Keith asks, already climbing up on top of him. “I would only give you the best, Lance.”

Lance moans, throws his head back. His cock twitches under his trousers and Keith’s mouth waters.  _ Next time, next time, _ he thinks. Lance starts to spread his thighs.

“No,” Keith tells him, hand already coming down to brace against Lance’s solid chest. “You’re still not done servicing me.” 

“Keith, gods,” Lance curses, writhes on the bed. 

Keith flexes his thighs, grinds against Lance’s cock through his trousers. “In the drawer is a little bottle, get it,” he tells him. Lance leans to one side and almost pulls the entire thing out of the rails. Little trinkets rattle around inside. It’s a dangerous thing, letting Lance touch inside that drawer. He still has the bullet Lance had shot him with, once, long ago, a hidden keepsake. 

But Lance doesn’t find it, just the thing he was tasked to find. The bottle is smooth, the color of sea foam and it’s half empty. “Get your fingers wet with it,” he instructs, “And put them where your tongue was before.”

Lance does as he’s told, his fingers glinting in the moonlight. He reaches behind Keith and slips a finger inside, then another as Keith spreads his thighs wider, cants his hips. 

“Now, your cock,” he says. 

Lance bites his lip. Looks up apprehensively.

“What is it, pet?” and Keith strokes down Lance’s face gently. Gently. 

“I’m close- please,” he blurts. “If I- I’ll,” and he can’t even finish his sentence. 

Keith smiles down at him. He leans onto his elbows and kisses Lance deeply, feeds him his tongue, his spit- his breath. Lance’s hands grip hard on Keith’s waist, his hips thrusting against his crease like he can’t help himself. 

“You won’t,” Keith assures, and without preamble Keith takes Lance’s slick hand, forces Lance’s fingers around his own cock. Starts to stroke it together. “You still have to please me.”

Lance moans, the head already catching at his hole, wanting in. “Keith, please,” Lance grunts. “Mercy,” he begs. 

But Keith doesn’t give it to him.

Instead, he lines them up, the soft tip pressing against his rim. Keith breathes out, one long sigh, spreads his thighs wider and the head of Lance’s cock is easing it’s way in, slick and hot and hard.

“Don’t come until I’ve finished,” he says, and starts to ride Lance in earnest. 

Keith plants one hand against Lance’s shoulder to pin him down, the other fisting the sheet next to his head. He has him trapped, has Lance’s focus all on him. Keith rides him, hard, quick, slamming down against Lance’s thighs. He slows, rolls just his hips, keeps Lance deep as he stirs himself up on the inside.

And all the while he revels in how Lance grits his teeth against the absolute pleasure he must be feeling, how he’s sweating at his hairline, how his fingers flex and squeeze. How hard his cock throbs everytime Keith takes him down all the way and stills. His lip is a bruised red from his clenching teeth. And through it all, Lance holds on.

Keith starts to pick up his pace, starts to wrap the rope around his fist. Lance blearily opens his eyes, sees what Keith is doing. He braces one hand to the bed and sits up, the angle changing, sharpening to a fine, honed point and Keith shouts. He’s glad his crew is on shore leave, all of them drinking and gambling and whoring. Even if they were on the ship, though, Keith wouldn’t care. Not with how Lance is groaning, his mouth hot and seeking against his throat, his words leaving his mouth in a prayer:  _ gods please, please, Keith- _

He stretches his legs out beside Lance’s hips, and a rush of endorphins run up his spine as he changes position. It forces Lance deeper than before, and Keith clings onto his shoulders, nuzzles at his neck. His fingers fumble with the buckle and the collar comes free.

“Now,” he breathes out with a breath that shivers in the air, his pressed to Lance’s ear. “Until you come, fuck it all into me,” he commands, and Lance grips hard at his back, his nails sinking in, and Lance’s hips jerk wildly between Keith’s spread legs. 

His name falls from Lance’s mouth like little stones, his voice guttural, shredded- so desperate for air but all he can do is call out Keith’s name-

Keith comes with a shout. He clutches at Lance’s back, his thighs hitching up under Lance’s ribs and  _ squeezing _ . He thrashes on Lance’s cock, sucks a vivid bruise into the side of his neck, pants against the curve of his shoulder and still Lance hasn’t come. 

Keith throws his head back, sobs, the stretch of his throat pulling against his chest and nipples and pelvis. Lance’s teeth latch on to his collarbone, sucks and licks and bites. He fucks over Keith’s prostate, hard and wild, and Keith is coming again, cock jerking, dry.

Lance cradles the back of Keith’s skull, pulls him forward, pulls him down from his orgasm, makes sure that Keith is focused on him. His eyes are twin sapphires at dawn, burning. He gives one final heave of his body, pulls Keith’s to him as close as he can and Keith grunts at the feel of Lance’s hot come deep inside. Lance’s fingers comb through his hair, stroke down his back. 

Keith returns the gesture, petting at Lance’s crown, down his nape, kisses the side of his neck where a vivid suck mark is starting to bloom. Lance leans backward, waits as Keith rearranges his legs. He gathers Keith into his arms, still seated inside. He rubs all over his back, brushes Keith’s hair away from his face. 

Keith tips his chin up, presses his lips to the hinge of Lance’s jaw. 

“Good boy,” he whispers and tucks his face next to his mark, listening to his ship creak on the waves, back and forth. Back and forth. 


End file.
